


a crown of maple leaves, a crown of flowers

by bluecarrot



Series: tumblr tumblr tumblr prompts!!! [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Language, GAY GAY GAY, Language of Flowers, M/M, Magic, Multi, No Sex, No Smut, Pining, Plants, Polyamory, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7758136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/bluecarrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Aaron Burr kisses <i>all</i> the boys, or at least several of them? idek<br/>no smut here, just spicy kissing and spicy language.</p><p>from an idea of @pinkconsultingsociopath, with her permission and inspiration and help, to wit: <i>Aaron has plant-related powers that manifest when he wills them to or feels strong emotions.</i><br/>I jumped off a bit from that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFrenchiestAce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFrenchiestAce/gifts).
  * Inspired by [You grow like ivy around me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7741633) by [TheFrenchiestAce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFrenchiestAce/pseuds/TheFrenchiestAce). 



> written 8/13/16.
> 
> title from [the Innocence Mission](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsGdxNIF_B0).  
> i considered calling this "a little fall of pain (will make the flowers grow)" and i resisted the urge. you are welcome. 
> 
> flower language isn't necessary to understand tho it adds a bit SO here is a list of the meanings anyway, for your delight and edification
> 
> Carnations - fascination, friendship, and love between souls (as opposed to purely physical attraction)  
> Dahlia - Participation  
> Ferns - magic!  
> Gardenias - secret love  
> Heather - admiration & solitude  
> Lavender - believing in the impossible  
> Mimosa - sensitivity  
> Phlox - harmony & good partnership  
> Poison Ivy - no formal meaning, but isn't the implication clear enough?  
> Roses - love, of course

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 8/13/16.

Alex didn't know when he'd first noticed the flowers; it was like they'd always been around. He would turn and see carnations dotting his shadow; he'd brush his hair back and come away with rose petals, white and red. Fingers dusted with yellow pollen from a bloom fully blown.

And -- looking back -- he didn't know when he first started associating the flowers with Aaron Burr. There was something similar about them -- well, it wasn't like Burr was a _floral_  sort of person, he was prickly and distant and difficult, hard to get to know, always a hanger-on, never the focus of attention. So Alex couldn't understand why the delicate smell of the heather-flowers that seemed to sprout up in the folds of his clothes brought Burr to mind. Like the flowers themselves, the thought was just _there._  A presence in his life, mysterious and reassuring, equal parts terrifying and beautiful.

He could live with that dichotomy. And honestly he sort of liked it -- not knowing. So why push it?

They'd go out together -- Alex and the rest of the squad -- and Burr would sit more or less by himself, drinking sanguine in a corner and occasionally glaring through his half-empty mug.

It made Lafayettte laugh (everything made Lafayette laugh) but Laurens was annoyed. "Why do you ask him with us?" he said to Alex, speaking low.

"Because I like him." It was true, though he couldn't explain why.

"Because 'ee likes _you_ ," said Lafayette.

Alex shrugged. There wasn't anything like that going on, not really. Sure, Burr was cute, but he wasn't doing anything about it, and Alex didn't have time to moon over someone who didn't want him. So he was interested in John Laurens -- and John was into him -- and everyone knew it.

Including Burr.

Still ... when Laurens kissed him for the first time, curving his hand around Alex's neck, Alex was not _entirely_ surprised to hear him draw back with a muffled curse, and to see blood welling up out of a long scratch.

But his mouth (as usual) ran several beats before his mind, and he said "Wait, what?" -- and he reached up to pull down a rose. 

It was more _thorn_ than _rose_ , really; and the small, tightly-budded flower was as red as -- well.

And Burr was watching him. Watching _them_.

Alex looked at Burr. Looked at the flower. Looked at Laurens. 

"Sorry," he said, not quite sure to whom he was apologizing or why.

"When the fuck did you put flowers in your hair? And why? And Jesus, Alex, next time cut off the thorns first." Laurens was a bit tipsy, drunk on beer and (Alex hoped) the warmth of a kiss.

"Sorry," he said again, and leaned forward to kiss John one more time -- a quick one now, but he tried to put a promise in it, something of the heat he felt, something of his desire. And he hopped off the barstool. "I'm gonna leave."

Lafayette groaned. "Is not even last call, eh? Just because you cannot hold down your drink, the rest of us must suffer for it? Or is it your snake that is waking?"

"You drink for me," Alex said, ignoring this display of the colloquial. "Laurens -- later, okay?"

"Whatever, asshole," said John, but he smiled.

Alex looked at Burr -- who was looking down at the woodgrain of the bar -- and hesitated. "Aaron? Good night."

That face lifted up (was there something of self-consciousness in it?) but Burr only said "Good night, Alexander."

 

 

"Alex?"

"Mmm."

They were kissing. They were kissing quite a lot. They were laying down on Alex's bed and he had his hands wrapped around Laurens' waist, not really roaming anywhere yet; his mind was a calm, pleasantly-humming blank.

John shifted away a little on the bed. "What the fuck is with the flowers?"

"What?" It took him a minute to even understand. "Oh. Um. I don't know. They sort of follow me around." He leaned forward for another kiss.

He pulled away. "They follow you around."

"Sort of, yeah. Like, you know." He dropped his hands to his side, playing with the folds and wrinkles in the sheets. "I'll find them just ... around ... in my ... clothes ..." This explanation clearly wasn't helping anything; John's face was a careful blank.

Alex shrugged. "It's not a big deal. It's just something that happens."

"Just _something that happens._  You _just happen_ to come up in flowers. And then you collect them and you take them home and you stuff them in your bedroom."

Alex sat up. "Look, I -- are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"I have no idea! It's not like I'm controlling this somehow. And they're fucking _flowers_ , okay? Who cares? And -- and yeah, I take them home sometimes. I like flowers. They're nice." He grit his teeth and added, sheepish: "Sometimes I take them to the hospice downtown."

"Well," said Laurens, "that's something, I guess."

"Why does it bother you so much?"

"It doesn't bother me, Alex. What bothers me is that _you're_ not bothered. We've all noticed it and ... it's ... it's _strange,_ okay? This has been going on for -- I don't know how long --"

"About a year."

"Uh-huh. So, it's been going on pretty much as long as we all have known each other, and you've never even questioned it?"

"I like to take life as it comes. You know that." Alex smiled. "You of all people should know that."

John rolled over on to his back and put his hands over his eyes; he groaned. "I don't need your terrible puns right now."

"You _always_ need my terrible puns." Alex crawled on top of him. It was perfectly safe -- the bedroom door was ajar, for one thing, and they were fully clothed, for another -- and oh, how he wished it weren't safe! He leaned down and kissed this man who was not-quite-a-boyfriend-but-perhaps-they-headed-in-that-direction. Once, twice, three times ... "You _love_ my puns." Kissed him again.

"I love _something_." Laurens' voice was muffled; Alex was moving on to his neck. "Sure ain't your puns, though."

"Mmm ..."

 

 

The next day:

Alex dropped down onto the ground. "Hey."

Burr, who was seated against a wall, didn't even bother to raise eyes from his book. "Hey."

"Um."

A beleaguered sigh; Burr set down the book. "Hamilton, why are you here?"

"I wanted to ask you something." He couldn't help but notice the little sprout of green that had appeared by Burr's left foot; he watched, mesmerized, as it crawled slowly up his pantsleg, spreading leaves as it went.

"So?" said Burr, standing, tugging away his foot. "Ask."

"Um," said Alex again. He stood up too; he stuffed his hands in his pockets. Why was he nervous? He shouldn't be nervous. This was _Burr_  for fuck's sake. "So, I don't know if you knew this? But John Laurens and I are dating." (Sort of? Maybe? They had done a lot of kissing, at least. It was entirely possible John didn't think they were dating. It was possible  _Alex_ didn't think they were dating.)

The tendril thickened and darkened, from bright new green to a yellow-brown, and thorns extended into the thick fabric of Burr's jeans. It must have hurt. He didn't even glance at it. "I'm surprised you made it official."

"It's not, really. Yet. But we are." Honesty added: "I think."

"Sure." A pause. "Why are you telling me this?"

"John is ... he's not ... he thinks that you ..." It was a bramble, he noticed, distractedly. A long tendril curled around Burr's shoulder, scratching his neck, and he thoughtlessly pushed it away. Thorny brambles. "He thinks you like me."

"Does he."

"And. Um." Alex felt something brush his ankle, looked down, and jumped back. "Jesus Christ, that's poison ivy!"

Burr smiled at him. "Are you allergic?"

"You're _not?_ " Why did that not surprise him? "Look, Aaron --"

"I don't care that you're with him, Alexander. Sleep with whomever you like." He hesitated again and Alex watched, in a sort of sick fascination, as a shiny leaf curled around Burr's wrist, tightening. He pulled it off without looking at it and dropped it to the ground. "Frankly, it's a little disturbing that you would think --"

But Alex had had enough. He was standing with his feet in poison ivy -- growing out of a cobblestone walkway! -- and he was watching a briar-patch grow around one of his friends and he'd spent the last twelvemonth with pollen in his hair and he had never been good at prevarication or waiting _anyway_ and right now he had had _enough._

He grabbed Burr by the front of the shirt and kissed him, hard.

He could feel the thorns scratching his cheeks and digging into his fingers and he could feel blood ebbing out from a cut too near his eye and he didn't care _,_ he didn't _care._ _"Burr,"_ he said, feeling sleepy and quite pleased with himself.

Then he let go to watch the effect. 

When a creamy white rose swelled and budded and bloomed broadly open directly over Burr's heart, looking wild and wind-blown, Alexander wasn't surprised at all.

 

 

And that, Alex thought (in unrepentant delight) was that.

They kissed long enough for a single vine to curl around both of them, tying them together --long enough for Burr's eyes to turn soft and dreamy -- for his mouth to swell up from the pressure of Alex's mouth. Finally he shifted away as far as the clinging, thorny rose-bramble would allow, and said: "What about John Laurens?"

Alex made a face. Why did Burr have to go and bring that up? All he'd wanted was to kiss away that expression -- that aggravating and arrogant and know-it-all expression, patient and lonesome and pained -- and now it was back. Along with a bounty of rather flattened roses. Alex rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. Um. John. I guess -- I guess --"

"It's alright. You're with him. I get it." The roses turned brown, drooping; the petals fell off and drifted down in a fragrant cloud. 

"It's not _all right,_  Aaron Burr, and I don't want to hear you saying that you don't care about me, or --" Alex broke off. "It's painfully obvious that you like me."

" _You_  like _me_ ," said Burr, scornful -- then he softened, touched the scratch by Alex's eye, rubbing the pad of his thumb over it. "Sorry about that one."

"If you'd  _told_ me months ago that it was you were making all those flowers ..."

Burr actually laughed out loud. "Oh yes, that conversation always goes so well. It's never, never lead to any negative consequences."

"I really do like the flowers, you know? I keep them."

"You do not."

"I do! That's what pissed off Laurens in the first place, actually. My bedroom is full of flowers. It's full of  _y_ _our_ flowers." He smiled. "Roses -- lots of roses -- and gardenias and carnations and ferns. Lavender and heather drying in bunches ..."

"And poison ivy." Burr looked away. "Sorry about that. It shouldn't itch too badly. I wasn't all that mad."

"Liar," said Alex. He kissed him again, slowly, and was not at all surprised to smell a sweet, heady scent -- wild mimosa, he thought. "Look. I need to go. I need to talk to Laurens."

"And you're planning to tell him what, exactly?"

Alex hesitated.

"That's what I thought," said Burr. "I'll come with."

"You think that will help?"

"Truthfully? No. Not at all. But I don't see any point in dragging this out, either."

 

 

Laurens, unsurprisingly, was at the bar.

So was Lafayette.

So was Hercules.

They were all three sheets to the wind.

Alex hung back. "This is not quite what I had in mind --"

"Coward," said Burr, and pulled him forward. "If I can deal with dropping invasive species all over every time I get jealous, you can deal with one simple conversation."

"Every time you get -- wait, wait. You were  _jealous?_ Burr! _"_

But Aaron had him by the hand and wouldn't let him go until they were parked in front of John Laurens (and Herc, and Lafayette, and what seemed to be about a third of the population of the town -- judging by the purple jerseys and grease-painted cheekbones, it was a sportsball night.)

"John Laurens," said Burr. "Hello."

"Aaron Burr!" Laurens raised his glass. "Ah, and you're holding my boyfriend's hand. What a nice thing to see."

 _Boyfriend._ Alex moaned aloud.

"He kissed me," said Burr, not showing the least contrition. He added: "I kissed him back."

Laurens took a drink. "Sure you did. Okay. Now what?"

"I want to kiss him again."

"Seems like nobody's stopping you," said John.

Alex moaned again, louder this time, and covered his face with his hands.

"I want your permission to kiss him," said Burr -- and at that, it seemed like everyone was looking at him -- all of the Squad and a good portion of the hangers-on.

" _What_?" said Alex. "Wait. Aaron? What?"

"Burr." Laurens came over, without putting down his drink. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"We can share him."

Behind them, in a surprising swap of character traits, Hercules abandoned his customary politeness and reserve and broke out in uproarious laughter, while Lafayette swatted him and told him to hush.

"Aaron," said Alex, "goddammit, let go of me! John, I swear I had no idea what he was going to say."

"Did you kiss him?"

"Yes, I did, but --"

"Then you stop talking. Burr, what are you talking about? Threesomes? Poly? You need to explain this."

"Polyamory," said Burr. "For now."

Alex had a lot of feelings to discuss on _threesomes_ and _polyamory_ and also that intriguing  _for now_ , but was distracted all over again by the almost-ethereal scent of heather that suddenly rose around them all.

Laurens rubbed the back of his neck; he looked pained. "Can this discussion wait until I'm sober?"

"Sure thing. Will that be anytime soon?"

John pulled what looked like a fern out of Alexander's hair. "Just tell me one thing, Burr. Is all this -- these leaves and flowers and shit -- is this your fault?"

"That's another discussion for when you're sober."

 

 

In Alex's bedroom, gathered together clumsily in a variety of vases, Mason jars, and drinking glasses, were enough flowers and greenery to make Alex blush and John Laurens roll his eyes.

For his part, Burr seemed to take it in stride. He'd spent the morning talking with Alex (talking _down_ Alex), waiting for John to wake up (and sober up) enough to come over.

At last they all sat down together on the bed.

Laurens made a face at Alex.

Alex looked at Burr.

Burr smiled, briefly. "Here's the thing," he said to Laurens, apparently ignoring Alex entirely. "We all like each other."

"I don't particularly like _you_ ," said Laurens.

Alex groaned, again. "Oh my god."

"That's because you don't know me," said Burr, very calm.

John laughed out loud. "You're an ass. Okay, tell me why we should do this."

"Why _shouldn't_ we? Alexander, would you stop wailing?"

"You've got a vine growing out your shirt," said John, to Burr. "Explain that first, if you would."

"There's no explanation for that. It ... happens. I sprout plants when I'm upset. Or happy. Strong emotions. Sometimes they show up on other people. It's all a bit embarrassing, really."

Laurens stared. "Well, shit. Alex said it _just happened_ ; who knew he'd be right about something for once? Is that why you're ... sorry, Burr. There's no polite word for it."

"Standoffish?" said Burr. "Rude? Isolated? That's one reason for it. Alex, take that phlox out of your sleeve and _please_  don't keep on with that horrible noise; you sound like a very sad ghost lost on the moors around Thrushcross Grange. Laurens, there's no reason to be so fussed. We don't have to have sex with _each other_."

John took a moment. "Well," he said finally. "It's a thought. Alex, what would be your response?"

"I could try it," Alex managed to say, past the fingers he'd pressed to his mouth. He stifled another noise. It probably wasn't the right time to tell his new boyfriends _(plural!!)_ of his ridiculous happiness.

But John looked at him and smiled a little -- a very little -- and Alex felt a small bit (a very small bit) less guilty.

"You're still sprouting," John Laurens said to Burr. "It's distracting. Can I get them?"

"Sure. It doesn't hurt." And Burr held patiently still while John put his hand up to his chest, pulling out a few delicate new budding leaves -- and Burr held still while John flattened his hand against his skin -- and Burr held still while John leaned in closer and kissed him.

Alex's eyes were very wide.

"Not terrible," said Burr.

"Damning with faint praise," said John, but he was grinning.

"You could practice more sometime, maybe," said Burr -- and he pulled a small, pale dahlia out of the forest of John's curls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -"You could stay and be caught / you think well it's a thought / what would be his response?" because I love _Hamilton _(i mean, it's okay I guess) but _Into The Woods_ is still my favorite musical evah__


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which there is a big storm and poor Alex is not dealing too well with it and Aaron tries to make him feel better and John Laurens is adjusting a bit to this whole _poly_ situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 9/4/16
> 
> for TheFrenchiestAce, who showed me [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0AOGeqOnFY) and made me laugh forever

Rain swallowed up the view for the third day in a row; it flooded over gutters and spilled into the streets, overwhelming the city's drainage system, swelling the river to its highest point in a decade.

Burr stared out the window anyway.

"Raining," said Lafayette, passing. He thought it was funny to twit Burr; he liked to watch the floor sprout with nettles.

Aaron did not think it was funny. "Do you have a raincoat?"

"Lost your umbrella again?" said John, mildly, seated at the table.

"No umbrella is going to save me from this nonsense. It's like a monsoon."

"It is, in fact, not a monsoon. It is a tropical storm."

Aaron waited. He would _not_ break out in vines or thorns; he _would_ control himself.

("Wait for it," said Alex late at night, practicing with him. "Aaron, _wait_. Hold back. Hold on." And he touched lightly, lingering, licking his mouth and dropping kisses -- and Aaron bloomed -- and Alex smiled. "Better. That's better. We'll try again in a while.")

John rolled his eyes. "Save your weeds, Burr. I'll find you something."

 

Later Burr returned, wind-blown and soaked through, the old rainjacket having lost its impervious weather-coating.

"Did you leave any of the storm outside?" said John, not looking up. He was scrolling through something on his phone.

Burr was not in the mood. A vibrantly green leaf curled around his ear and opened with threatening speed. "Have you gotten up off that chair at all yet today? And where is Alex?"

"I am quite comfortable where I am, thank you for asking. Though I appreciate the concern for what you've called my  _very nice ass_."

Burr ignored this, too. "And Alexander?"

"I took a bath," said Alex, wandering in from the hall. "I wanted a bath so I had a bath. And a drink. I had a bath and I had a drink. Aaron, what have you done to yourself?"

The sight of Hamilton, with his damp hair and his tired eyes and his sweet mouth! It made most of the last hour worthwhile, even as his toes squished in his shoes and his pant-legs dripped on the rug. "I got you a present. But you'll have to teach me how to open it up."

"What are you talking about?" Alex padded over. His feet were bare.

John and Burr both watched him. Then they looked at each other. 

Laurens wore a familiar expression of loving forbearance.

Burr was still not, quite, in the mood to deal with complicated relationship negotiations and delicate feelings. "It's not a big deal, probably. The thing is, I knew you were -- the storm, I knew you weren't feeling great about it."

A vine curled down from Alex's hair and wrapped around his neck; he pulled it away, wincing.

"Sorry." Burr added his own hands to the effort. " _Sorry._ I was saying. The storm. You don't like it."

Alex went still as a hunted animal. "It's fine. I've lived through storms before, I -- ouch! Aaron, the thorns -- "

"Well, stop lying! It'll get worse if you keep agitating me."

Laurens was frowning at Burr, mouthing _Can't you stop this yet?_ "He's bleeding."

Burr shook his head: _Not now_.

They worked together to untangle Alex.

Hamilton said: "But you haven't told me what it is." He sounded so young, like the storm brought something out in him -- brought him back to some place.

Burr wasn't so sure, any more, that this gift was appropriate. "I thought, you know, I was thinking about you, Alex, I was thinking ... sorry." A slender-leaved daisy was just now spreading open its delicate pale petals into his dark hair. Embarrassing. He pulled it out and shook his head at himself, tried to control the feeling that made things bloom. "Um. I was thinking about your childhood, actually." (Those eyes!) "I wanted to ... Nevermind. It's probably stupid."

"Let _us_ judge you," said John, "if you need someone to do it. And stop dithering." He smiled at Burr, with his mouth on Alex's hair, close to the ear, holding him nearby. Holding him together.

Burr thrust the plastic bag at Alex. He'd run out of words. "Here."

And he felt, rather than saw, a long trail of ivy grow up and around his leg.

 _Fidelity_ , it meant. Well, he knew that already.

Laurens was shaking his head. "What the hell is it?"

"A coconut," said Alex; he sounded like he was choking. "A young one. They're hard to find here. I like those the most, they taste different, the meat and the milk, it's sort of -- it tastes like the ocean somehow. It tastes like h-home. Burr," he said, and cleared his throat. "Aaron, where did you _find_ this?"

"Clear across town. It took a while. There's a tiny shop, run by --"

"You _walked_ across town? In a hurricane?"

"Well," said Aaron, feeling a blush creep across his cheeks, a pink as deep as the throat of the lily now spread broadly, shamelessly open, just behind Laurens' ear -- "Well. It's a tropical storm, I've been told."

"Aaron," said Alex: and he covered his face.

"That's sort of sweet, actually," said John, dry. "How much did that set you back?"

Burr shook his head. "I believe in paying my debts."

Laurens had kept one hand wrapped around Alex's hand this whole time; now he tilted up Burr's chin and kissed him thoroughly, then pulled back to smile at him. "The floor is coated in violets, my friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ivy = fidelity and affection  
> lily = pride  
> violets = modesty, watchfulness, faithfulness, taking a chance on happiness


	3. verdancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Burr and Laurens have a nice conversation, kiss, and make up.  
> the kissing takes place on a sofa; the making up takes place on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 9/6/2016.

Alexander was perpetually on the edge. It made him -- interesting. He wasn't boring. And John Laurens hated to be bored. 

Alex had broken down during the storm and that wretch Burr walked across town, through the floods and the blocked-off streets, to find him something good to remind him of Nevis, something to make him stop tasting high winds and fear and loss. 

It worked, mostly. 

Alex showed off his ability to tap the fruit (looking rather smug, John thought) and he shared the treat with both of them and fell asleep on the sofa in the middle of a long, very involved story about something that happened when he was a kid, threaded through with enough pidgin French that Laurens was completely lost and Burr, who was fluent in French, just looked annoyed at his inability to follow the _patois_.

Or maybe he was annoyed at the rambling.

 

They carried him to bed like a child and left him there.

 

Burr got a drink and watched the rain, motionless, feet tucked under a blanket. Now and then he swatted at a leaf sprouting from under his shirt.

John watched him.

It was easy to accept that he grew plants -- probably because Burr wasn't at all pleased with it; if he'd been proud and show-offy, none of this would work, but he treated it as more of a nuisance than anything else. The whole thing was pleasingly ironic: Burr, who wanted above all else to hide his mind, was completely unable to do so when he most wanted to do it -- and it came out in such a dramatic way! ("I don't even like roses," he'd growled once, after a particularly nice kissing session had left him covered in spread-open blooms and bruised petals. Alex had thought that was very funny; he'd repeated it to John, trying to imitate Burr's mild, temperate voice dropping low in irritation. John had not found it very funny.)

 

Tonight, though ... he poured himself the last of the bottle Burr had left on the counter, half-corked, and sat nearby.

A leaf unfurled in immediate agitation.

"There's no need to be snippy," said Laurens. " _You_ didn't buy it."

"It's been a long couple of days."

"He's looking better."

A shrug.

"You don't need to worry." Not much. "Alex is ridiculously resilient."

"I am _not_ ," said Burr, "worrying about Alexander. My life does not revolve around him. I do not wake in the middle of the night and wonder if he's thought of me lately. I never --"

"Okay. Got it. You don't need to go on. Tell me what _is_ wrong, then."

Burr scratched at his wrist and pulled out a long (quite long) rope of what looked to be poison ivy. Again? John didn't bother keeping the scowl off his face. "I thought you were working on that."

_"I - am - working - on - it."_ Through his teeth.

"Tell me."

"You don't care." He still hadn't looked at Laurens.

"If I didn't care, I wouldn't ask."

Burr blinked. "That might be the first kind thing you've said to me, if it's true. Okay, okay ... Just. This all isn't working out."

"What isn't working?"

"We don't get along, you and I. Maybe we're never going to get along. The only thing we have in common is Alex."

Another tug; more shiny green leaves.

"You'd better wash your hands before you touch anything," said Laurens, who had spent plenty of time covering himself and Alex in pink, chalky dots of calamine lotion during previous Burr-ian agitations.

"See? You're literally allergic to me."

"I am not allergic to _you_."

"You don't _like_ me."

"I like kissing you," said Laurens, obfuscating the point in a flashy display of truth. He really, really enjoyed the kissing, and he suspected he would continue to enjoy other activities. Judging by the lilies (pride) and dahlias (participation) that sprouted all over when they kissed, Aaron had similar feelings of reticence and pleasure. (John had spent a lot of time with a reference guide to flower meanings, lately.)

Maybe it was time to speak clearly? God knew he couldn't count on Aaron to be straightforward as a matter of course.

Burr made a noise that on anyone else would be considered a snort. "Sex is meaningless."

"It would be fun, though," said John, without thinking.

Burr glared at him. "That's a terrible reason to stay in a relationship."

"Oh, sure." He watched the little green leaves sprout up and grow, and thought: _This would be so much easier with Alex_. "But Burr, don't you need to know how it ... to weigh all sides of the equation before you make a good and proper decision?"

"You're making fun of me."

"I'm propositioning you."

He watched those high cheekbones turn rosy-pink, and felt something weigh down his hair. Pulled it out. Another dahlia.

That would be a yes.

 

Burr's mouth (Laurens had noticed once or twice before) had a peculiar taste; it was almost earthy, like maple syrup, or moss; and he was not as greedy as -- as some people; he took his time. It was a nice change. The whole thing was nice. 

But now he was holding back.

Nothing grew on either one of them -- that is, no plants -- although it took Laurens a moment to notice. He had his hand down the front of Burr's trousers and was digging his nails into soft skin and Burr was shivering all over and making the most delicious noises, faintly, in the back of his throat, and that was very interesting and also very distracting, and it was only when he bent his head to bite down at Burr's shoulder that he remembered, and realized, and drew back to stare.

"Burr? Aaron?"

"Why did you _stop_?"

"Where are your plants?"

"It's fine."

"Tell me you want this. Tell me the truth."

"I want this."

"Then why aren't you reacting?"

Burr shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Kiss me again. Put your hand back. Let me put my hand back, please?" And he smiled. "I swear I washed off all the poison ivy sap."

"I certainly hope so. But how can you say it doesn't matter? I want you to --" To be present. Laurens shook his head. "Do you always hold back like this? Does Alex know?"

"Alex only sees what he wants to see, you know that. It's his best quality. And his worst. John Laurens, are you ever going to finish --"

"Yes. Shut up. Yes."

 

Eventually they lay on the rug together, in satiated silence. Laurens had dragged down the old ragged quilt that lived on the sofa and covered them both; it was just broad enough that they could roll up in it, like a burrito, if they stayed close together.

Burr had his eyes shut; John was running his hands through the short, tight coils of his hair. "That's very nice. You're nice."

"The first time you've said that about me."

"You're usually sort of a shit." But he was mild and sleepy. "Sorry, I guess, about the flowers. But I thought you didn't like them anyway."

"I thought you got the pretty things when you're ... happy. Iris, daisies, lilies. Alex sure has enough of them in his room."

"Mm." He sounded like he was dropping off. "Alex is flowers. You're not flowers. Not really."

Laurens was appalled. "Try to show a little gratitude, would you? I did some dirty, filthy things."

Humph.

"You think too much."

"That's cute, coming from you."

"Alexander doesn't think. He reacts. Flowers. Show-off. It's how he is. You're slower." He was falling back asleep, words dwindling.

If they didn't move soon, they'd both fall asleep on the rug, and then where would they be? "Come on. Let's go to bed."

"He's there." A huge yawn.

"He won't see anything new on either one of us."

But Aaron really was tired -- from the wine or from the event, John didn't know, didn't want to ask. He tucked him in to the big bed and turned on the fan and crawled in himself, on the other side of Hamilton. (Burr said Alex slept in the middle because he was greedy and entitled; Alex called himself Switzerland, a neutral force between two warring nations.)

_You aren't flowers,_ Aaron had said.

What the fuck did that mean? Why did Burr have to act like speaking clearly would bring about the end of the world?

 

John woke in the dawn's early light to find the two of them alone in the bed. A faint (very faint) noise from the other room meant Alex was awake, and typing, working on something-or-other. And the bed was littered with vines, crawling in complex tangles all over his body and Aaron's, binding them together with something too intricate to be readily and simply named ( _daisies_ , he thought, in startled wonder. _Roses_ ) --

The plants rustled and stretched as Burr breathed in his rest; Alex laughed softly to himself in the other room.

He remembered how Aaron tasted earthen, how his real smile was slow and sure as lichen moving over marble -- how he shut his eyes, waiting to kiss.

Maybe he'd misjudged Burr this entire time. Misjudged himself too, maybe, in comparing himself to Alex -- or to anyone. 

What sprouted off Burr when he was alone? (How could he ask these questions?)

But the body next to him was warm and quiet, and he found himself hoping the exact opposite of what he'd wanted last night.

He wanted Aaron to stay.

Laurens shut his eyes, seeking acceptance for this new verdancy, this vast unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's talk about how goddamn cute Burrens is over   
> @littledeconstruction   
> on tumblr


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Jack Bellamy gets the hankering for a hunk of Aaron Burr  
> (sort of a prequel?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 13 March 2017. during a blizzard.

Once upon a time ...

 

One theology student met another.

They shook hands.

"Burr," said the smaller.

"Bellamy," said the taller.

And that was that --

 

After a year of knowing Aaron Burr, Bellamy had grown used to the peculiar scent of flowers that hung around him like a woman's perfume. He'd accepted it the way he accepted freak snowstorms in March that left him cursing under his breath and stumbling through drifts up to his knees, the way he accepted red-suited soldiers loitering in doorways, refusing to give way when he wanted to pass through -- that is -- he had not accepted it at all.

Neither could he address it. A confidence had grown thick between them but still, Burr had an impatient temper that belied his size, and Bellamy thought -- he worried -- that any attempt to break into the secrets Burr kept would make him drop the relationship entirely.

So they only studied together -- two theology students at home in the library stacks -- and discussed politics, carefully, in quiet voices -- and if Jack Bellamy found a green stalk and tightly-bound bloom of some spriggy flower in his coat, why should he think anything of it? 

And why did he think of Burr?

He couldn't help it: the association was there. Bellamy began to pay attention.  
He saw that Burr always wore his sleeves down over his wrists, even on when the sun shone down hot enough to break a sweat by ten o'clock, and he often scratched at the skin like something was bothering him there. More than once, looking at those wrists, Bellamy saw the edge of something -- a leaf, maybe; or a blade of grass caught up in a button. 

He saw the pages of Burr's book were marked with pressed flowers, and he found himself starting to pick out the different types -- aster, sweet pea, the fragile blossoms of blue delphinium -- although he'd never been much interested in the natural world before. 

He saw that Aaron had beautifully dark eyes and a wicked curve to his mouth.

And Bellamy saw himself sitting a little too close, letting his arm rest a little too long across Burr's narrow shoulders, bending in to smell that fragrance -- 

And Burr jerked away.

"Sorry," said Bellamy, and felt himself go red.

"Sorry," said Burr. His cheeks were pink and he looked delicious and Bellamy had never before felt so -- distracted -- by another man -- 

\-- nor had he seen a fern's rough-edged fronds growing outwards from underneath a collar.

His breath caught in his throat, and his mouth went dry. "Aaron."

Burr didn't answer.

"Aaron Burr. Look at me."

Burr looked up.

Bellamy wanted so badly to kiss him that he stood up and put his hands in his pockets and moved away to help fight temptation. "I'm sorry --"

Burr stood too. "Jack. We should talk."

"Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow" -- and he fled.

Once at home he at once stripped off his coat and shirt, meaning to take a cold bath and talk himself out of this painful nonsense -- but the heady, sensual scent of lilac drifted up, and he touched the folds of fabric again, almost dreamily. Here -- here it had pressed against Aaron; here it was warm from their bodies' mingled warmth.

Bellamy licked his mouth and thought of trading heat in another way.

Lilac, he thought. And pansies, he'd seen those too -- and snapdragons, once, growing at Burr's feet: a cultivated flower miles away from any sort of lady's garden. And Burr had stepped on them, maybe deliberately.

_We should talk,_ Burr’d said.

Bellamy stood a moment indecisive: then he tugged his shirt back over his head and went out the door, half-running in haste. 

Alright, he thought. Aaron wanted to talk. So they'd _talk_. They'd talk so hard and so long, their mouths would be bruised for a week -- if Bellamy had anything to say about it. 

Burr might have held on to those sprays of aster like a promise, but Bellamy was tired of waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aster: patience  
> sweet pea: shyness  
> delphinium: enjoyment  
> fern: sincerity  
> lilac: first love  
> pansy: good thoughts  
> snapdragons: presumptuous

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on tummmmmmmblr! @littledeconstruction


End file.
